


Careful, Teeth Are Sharp

by sunny_jordy



Series: London In Blood [1]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Gen, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, London In Blood AU, Minor Character Death, Violence, besides bertie, past zoscar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28313130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunny_jordy/pseuds/sunny_jordy
Summary: Oscar Wilde is running an years-long operation to secure London as his territory.Sasha Racket ran away from the Racket clan, looking to live her vampire life freely.They get on.But staying free is not easy.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Sasha Racket, Sasha Racket & Oscar Wilde
Series: London In Blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076885
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15
Collections: When In Rome Secret Santa 2020





	Careful, Teeth Are Sharp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChaosMidge (NotQuiteInsane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotQuiteInsane/gifts).



> I've had the idea for some sort of a vampire AU kicking around for a while, and I'm really happy to take my shot at it! Hopefully I did it justice.

The first time Wilde meets Sasha, he almost dies.

He’s in the middle of shopping for tomorrow’s evening, trying to pick up a new suit that would overshadow Hamid’s outfit this time around. He’s lost three times in a row in their nights out, and he has no intention to make this a fourth.

However, when Wilde exits another tailor’s shop with empty hands, he picks up on a smell. 

High up above him, fresh blood.

As he slides into an alley and sticks to the shadows, he’s trying to run calculations in his mind. There’s definitely a fight going on, though it seems like it’s coming closer to an end, considering how heavy the scent is. Usually, he wouldn’t even be that curious. Fights happen.

Wilde jumps up, grabbing onto the edge of a gutter, and starts leaping his way to the roof of the cathedral where he figured the scent is coming from.

It’s just that what he’s smelling is not human in any form.

Vampires are not exclusive in London - it’s a big city, and he’s ran into more than plenty. It’s ideal for creatures like them, with its hiding spots and cramped streets and secret infrastructures. But even if it’s not declared, they try to take territory quarles and personal grudges to be dealt with on private grounds. 

Besides, this quarter is  _ his. _ Wilde has the right to know who’s trespassing his territory. 

He’s on the top of the roof now, crouching behind a gargoyle, who gives him a slight nod without actually moving much. The residents of this roof know him. Everyone does.

Wilde’s lips twist in a wonky smirk.  _ Oh, have it be one of Barret's men. _ Getting a legitimate hit on the vampire king of the underground would be delightful.

A flick of a second later, and he’s looming above the sprawling body of a human vampire. He doesn’t recognize him, but he does spot the telltale mark of the Racket clan - a burn right on the clavicle, two vampire fangs pointed at each other.

Wilde kneels down, his hair falling around his face as he examines the puncture wounds and blood splatters. It’s a remarkable dagger work - the arms seem to have been disabled first, gaining the attacker the opportunity to lend an adamantine blow through the heart. Couldn’t have been more of a few seconds of fighting, really. The poor bloke had no chance against that incredible knife work.

Maybe Wilde should be here not to kill, but to recruit. Anyone who doesn’t mind spilling blood in broad daylight and has adamantine weapons in their possession is someone he wants on his side.

Just as he’s about to rise up, though, there’s a harsh blow to his side, and Wilde stifles a scream as the metal burns through him and knocks him down to his knees. He starts humming, pushing himself up as he readies to curse the vampire away, but the person behind him grabs onto Wilde’s shoulder and throws him backwards, only to bring a blade to his throat.

“Right,” he starts, slowly, but the dagger presses slightly underneath his chin, and Wilde shuts up. He’d hate to deal with an adamantine scar on such a visible space.

It seems like he lies there forever, the cold winter wind caressing his face being the only thing moving around him. It carries the smell of his attacker to him, sweet and slightly acidic, like poisoned honey. He can almost taste the age on his tongue - ten years since the turn, maybe. Young, but not new.  _ Interesting. _

A voice comes from above him, cutting his train of thought. “You ain’t got the Racket burn.” The words cut in the way he learned to recognize from the Other London folk, stumbling and sharp on the teeth.

“Correct, I do not.”

“Did he send you?”

_ An Other London vampire, running away from Barret? Intriguing. _ “No. I quite despise the man, if I’m honest. Oscar Wilde, lovely to make your acquaintance. Would you mind having this conversation in a more comfortable position, face to face, even?”

There’s a blur above him, and though it doesn’t feel like the blade left his skin for a second, there’s now someone perched on his stomach, staring him down. Her hair is short and disheveled, black eyes circled with a red ring staring him down. “Right, ‘Oscar Wilde’. Why are you up here, then?”

He chuckles. “This happens to be my territory. I have a right and duty to know what’s going on in my quarter, you understand.” She goes a bit pale, and Wilde suppresses a smirk and a sigh of relief at once, trying not to disclose just how much he enjoys having this power. And how terrified he is to die at the hands of this more than capable woman. “I would not advise on killing me here. You  _ will _ be hunted down, and I think neither of us wants that. So,” he drags the word, “would you terribly mind removing the damned adamantine away?”

She gives him another stern look. A beat later, and she’s standing up. “Here.”

Wilde is on his feet before her voice dies down, smoothing over the flaps. “That’s much better. It really is great meeting you, whoever you are. What’s your name?”

She hesitates, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Eh. Sasha.”

Wilde’s eyes flicker to her collarbone, and that confirms his sudden suspicion. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself the last few years, you know. Last I heard from Barret, he was bragging about you as a skilled assassin.” His lips curl up in a surprised, pleased smile. “Did you leave the clan?”

“You’re makin’ lots of assumptions. What’s - what’s to say I’m Ra - um, the name you mentioned? Like, you just saying words, really.”

“It’s okay, I’m not going to turn you in or anything. Actually, I’d like to offer you a job.”

Sasha raises an eyebrow, but he can tell she’s curious. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Wilde gestures at the area around them. “All that territory? It doesn’t keep itself safe on its own. I always need more people on the team, and you’ve got skills I’m interested in. In return, you get your own place, supplies, whatever else you ask for - I can provide it. And most importantly,” he tilts his head towards the dead vampire, “the Barret blokes would think twice before trying to mess with anyone working for me.”

She isn’t looking at him, playing with the knife in her hands - tossing it up and catching it, sliding the blade between her fingers, seemingly not caring to be dealing with this fatal metal. “What’s your opinions on people leaving?”

“You’re free to do as you will. If you want out, you can. We’re not Barret, by any means.” He spreads his hands. “If you need time to think, it’s fine. I’m around, you can find me, I’m sure. Give it consideration?”

Sasha shrugs, still not looking at him. “Sure.”

Wilde turns around on his heels, pushing his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and with a quiet quick song heals his skin through the fabric. He throws Sasha another look. “You’re planning on getting rid of the body? I can send someone to collect it, if needed. I just don’t want any evidence around.”

Finally, she looks up, and flashes a short, sharp smile. “Got it covered.”

_ “Perfect.” _ Wilde gives her his brightest of smiles. “See you!”

And he jumps off, right back to the alley.

A satisfied smile rises on his lips.  _ Barret’s gonna be  _ pissed.  _ Can’t wait for that. _

___________

It’s a few days later, and Wilde is sitting at the desk in his office, feverishly typing away at the typewriter, trying to finish off the story he promised to submit to this weekend’s Times issue. Gods, he needs to improve on his time management skills. Not that he doesn’t have reason to be busy - running a double life as a journalist  _ and  _ being the manager of a crime-fighting vampire squad is much harder than he originally presumed.

_ Gods, why did I ever agree to do this? _

_ Damn Zolf for caring. _

Wilde sighs, and pushes himself off the desk. Apparently this is one of those afternoon drink days. It won’t help much with his productivity, but he feels himself slipping into the embrace of his memories again, and he’d like to sooth his nerves with some good whiskey before he returns to writing about the hot new gossip of upper London.

When he reaches the end of the corridor, he sniffs, and freezes in place for a second, his ribs contracting in his chest with panic. 

Then he has the mind to sniff a second time, and he can breathe again. 

It’s hard to forget this poisoned honey scent.

When he enters his own living room, Wilde finds Sasha there, looking over the various items decorating his walls. She seems to be particularly interested in one of the few weapons he has hanging up there - an adamantine dagger he collected from a noble who tried to buy a whole neighborhood to turn it into a new mansion. It was very nice of Wilde to gift himself just the dagger, really. “Do you want it?”

Sasha turns to him, not jumping from his arrival, but just farrows in confusion. “Yeah?”

Wilde shrugs with one shoulder. “I don’t mind. It’s kind of laying around, anyways, and I  _ was _ looking for a place to hang that arrow from Grizzop. It’s yours.”

She still doesn’t take it. “Usually, people don’t just give you stuff. Why would you give me stuff?”

“An act of goodwill?” He proposes. “Also, to be honest, bribery. I gather you’re here because you’re interested - I’m just speeding things along.”

A slight smile ghosts over Sasha’s lips. “I can take bribes, yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. Sasha Racket. Takes bribes. I like how it sounds.” She picks the dagger up and unseathes it, flicking it up in the air and then catching it mid-spin. “Good feel, too.”

“Sharp,” Wilde throws, grinning, but unfortunately, Sasha just looks at him quizzically.  _ We’ll have to work on that. At least she’s not pulling an Azu and asks what is sharp _ . “You’re free to sit down. I was just about to get myself a drink, do you want anything?”

Sasha shuffles over to the couch and sits down, clearly unsure what to do with herself. “Er, you’ve got any beer?”

Wilde winces at that as he opens the drinks cabinet, like he’s offended she presumed it’s a thing he’ll have there. “Afraid not… Wine? Whiskey? Gin? I can mix something up, if you want, I think I’ve got at least  _ some _ ingredients…”

“Whiskey’s - whiskey’s good.”

“Great.” Wilde picks up his favorite scotch and two glasses, pouring into two ornate drinking glasses and handig one over to Sasha. “Right. So,” he sits across from her on his leather armchair, and leans back, crossing his legs. “I imagine you being here is a yes to my offer?”

“I wanna hear more? Like, you didn’t actually say much.”

“It’s very simple,” he says. “Upper London is divided into a few different territories, each theortically belonging to a different faction. In reality, as you’re probably aware, a lot of these are just extensions of Barret’s whole operation. However!” Wilde downs about a half of the whiskey in one go, and the smile on his lips grows wider as the alcohol burns pleasantly down his throat. “Me and my associates are less fond of the idea of all of London falling into his hands. I’ve been in hold of this quarter for the past decade and a half, and I’ve been expanding ever since. You’re skilled. I’ve heard of you - vampires losing all the documents in their safes, humans who tried to oppose Barret disappearing. In the few times I did meet the man, he bragged about you quite a lot. Yet you’re never spotted, never caught.” Wilde uncrosses his legs and leans his elbows on his knees, eyes glinting. “That’s the kind of skill I want.”

Sasha still hasn’t touched her whiskey, or let go of the dagger. “Whatcha offering?”

Wilde smiles.  _ She’s gonna like Grizzop. _ “Like I said, we don’t lack resources. Money, contacts, food - you’ve got it. Great colleagues. A cool apartment. And the protection of the faction. Someone messes with one of us, we’re all coming for them.” He finished his drink, letting out a satisfied sigh. His brain was getting a bit fuzzy. 

Sasha sips from the glass, and then winces. “Mate, you gotta get some better alcohol, that’s just smoke.” She puts down the drink on the carved coffee table,and then slides the dagger back into its sheath, before tucking it somewhere inside her ink-black leather jacket. “Alright. I’m in. Like, you’re crazy if you’re fighting Barret, he’s gonna crash you. But you seem legit and I don’t want back, and like, I don’t really have many other options? Bi Ming is fine and all but living in the back part of his store for the past month has been a nightmare, and that also puts him in danger, and I don’t want the clan to try and make a move on him. When do I start?”

_ Who’s Bi Ming?  _ Wilde wonders.  _ Doesn’t matter. I can check it out later.  _ “Today.” He pulls out the key he kept in the pocket of his jacket since he first met Sasha, and throws it to her. She catches it in mid-air, spinning the metal chain in her fingers. “The apartment is two buildings down this street, top floor. It’s all yours. It’s an al-Tahan funded area, so I pulled some strings. I figured maybe something a bit high up could be a good shift? If not, I can find something else.”

Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head. “No! No, that’s, that’s really good. High up is definitely good.”

“Great!” Wilde puts the empty glass away, carefully placing it in the middle of the table for fear of dropping it. “As I said, take a few days, get accustomed, and just let me know if there’s anything you need. I’ll send for Grizzop to meet up with you and bring you up to speed with what we’re doing. I think the two of you will get along well.” Wilde claps his hands together, the sound slamming into his own ears too harshly.  _ I might… I need to sleep. Dammit.  _ “Anything else?”

Sasha shoots up in place. “No.” In a second she’s by the doors to his balcony, already opening them, before looking back. “Eh. Thanks.” 

Wilde gives her a two-fingers salute, smiling. A beat later, and she’s gone.

Wilde slumps back in his chair, closing his eyes and pressing them hard with his fingers.  _ Gods, I’m tired. _

He opens his eyes, and hazily looks at his hands. Barnes once told him they were made to make something delicate, with how spindly his fingers are. Wilde didn’t comment, but he doesn’t agree. No matter how much he tries to present it this way, there’s nothing delicate about the things he does. Just viciousness hidden behind elegance. 

He spins the wedding band around his finger, taking it off and throwing it up in the air before catching it and touching the cold silver to his lips. 

It’s hard not to reminisce about the past. 

With a sigh, he slides the ring back to its place and forces himself out of the armchair, dragging himself to his room until he collapses on the far too big mattress. It feels so lonely, to curl up between two pillows and in wide sheets, without having anyone beside him.

_ Just a quick nap, _ he tells himself, as he drifts off to sleep.  _ And then I’ll finish writing that damned piece. _

___________

It’s been a few weeks since Sasha joined the Rangers, and she’s been having the best time of her life.

It’s not much different than her past work for Barret, really. She’s still stealing gold and secrets, still has to sneak and stab and run away. Though thinking about it, there’s much less murder involved.

But everything else? Everything else is  _ a blast. _

There’s so much freedom. No one is forcing her to be there, and from what she figures, they’re doing good work. What it matters if you have to threaten some nobles on the way and take their money? Or better yet, convince other vampires it’s better to join them than Barret?

A month ago, Sasha wouldn’t have thought something like this was possible. But she’s starting to believe.

This evening she finds herself in Wilde’s apartment, which has become a familiar place by now. They meet up here every weekend - usually to go over what they accomplished this week, and what needs to happen from this point forward. This time though, Wilde decided they could all use some time to blow off steam together, especially considering the next few weeks are about to be stressed, with the MacGuffingham operation about to kick into action. As Wilde said,  _ there’s no better timing. _

The whole gang is there - Grizzop, Azu, Hamid, Barnes, Carter, Wilde and herself. It’s small but nice, and people are drifting in and out of conversations as they go around the table Wilde set up with little pastries filled with barely-cooked meat and ribs you could still feel the blood on. Wines, tinged with blood, and even beer for Sasha’s benefit.

Sasha picks a few of the pastries and wanders off to Wilde’s balcony, which she can’t help but appreciate. It’s not as high as the one in her own place -  _ she has her own place _ -, but it has an amazing view over the merchant quarter, and at night you can see how the whole of London lights up as the wind washes over you. She leans on the rail, nibbling on the warm dough.

“You alright?”

Sasha looks down. “Oh, hey, Grizzop. Yeah, I’m good. Just wanted to, ah, get some of the view, you know.”

“Sure.” Grizzop grabs onto the rail and pulls himself up with a jump, settling to sit on the metal with his legs swinging above the street. “You’ve got something on your mind, though.”

Sasha stuffs her mouth full. “Mhm?”

“Yeah, you're doing that funny thing with your nose like you smelt something and can’t figure out what it is.” His ears lean a bit sideways. “What’s that about this time?”

“Like, okay, so you know how Wilde said for a while he wanted to throw a party, have fun together, and all that?”

“What about it?”

Sasha shrugs, tilting her head back to the direction of the living room, where she picks up on Barnes and Carter trying to embarrass one another with stories from their time in Egypt together. “I don’t know. He just seems not to have much fun? Like, actually ever. And I know I’m not really a people person, but that’s a thing, right? I mean, that’s not normal people's behavior. Why would you throw a party if you don’t even like it?” 

Grizzop sighs. “You know, he wasn’t always like that.”

“Really?” Sasha swallows another pastry whole. She’s so gonna beat Carter on their bet of whether she or Hamid will eat more tonight. “What happened?”

“Yeah, well. Hamid knows the details better than I do, but basically, you know the ring Wilde always wears? Well, he was married, once.” Grizzop farrows. “Technically, I don’t think they ever divorced.”

“Wow. Who’s the fella?”

Grizzop shakes his head. “I didn’t know the guy well, actually. I think I came in a month before he left? Zolf, was his name. I dunno much. Something to do with his family and Barret and what we were doing, from what Hamid said. I think the only person who really knows what happened is Wilde himself. And it left him a bit… unstable.” Grizzop drops his voice. “I think that’s the reason he barely sleeps, you know. He misses his husband. I guess it wasn’t a cheating or I-don’t-love-you-anymore kind of break up.”

Sasha finishes the last baked good in her hands, living her fingers oily. “Damn.” She rubs them together a few times, letting the crumbles fall off. “That’s… a lot.”

“Right?” Grizzop shakes his head. “I hope he can get back to himself. He seemed genuinely happy when I first met him, you know. And sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s my friend.”

“Yeah, mine too,” she says, surprising even herself. She hasn’t called anyone a friend out loud in… since Brock. “Oi, Grizzop, you’re my friend too, right?”

He elbows her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid. Sure I am. Now let’s come back inside, we have to make sure Carter loses your bet.”

“You  _ are _ a good friend,” Sasha calls happily. “Alright.”

___________

_ This was supposed to be an easy mission _ , Sasha thinks, as her feet echo in the stone tunnel while she zooms across, running back to the manhole through which she and Grizzop entered.

_ This was supposed to be an in and out, _ she tries to tell herself, like it would change the fact that Grizzop is limping, like it would stop the burn of the adamantine arrow buried in her arm, like it would make dragging Grizzop up the ladder and back to the dark alley easier.

_ They were not supposed to know we are here, _ but they did, because there is a whole group of her past clan chasing after them, and more waiting up above, the night only serving as a better cover for them to jump out of. Her and Grizzop stand back to back, he shoots, she stabs. But there are so many enemies, and only the two of them.

_ You’re better than them, _ and Sasha’s right, they are, in every sense. Grizzop and her together are worth like a whole legion. She knows how to use every part of her body like a well aimed weapon - her hands swing to slash through, her feet jump her up, her teeth tear through throats like they were butter. But she’s still injured, and it’s getting worse. 

_ No one was supposed to get hurt. _ She lets the last one of the vampires facing her fall to his knees, and with a sharp turn, she breaks his neck. Bloodied and panting, she turns around to smile at Grizzop.

Only to see his unconscious body in the arms of her cousin, Ashen, before the last gives her a quirky smile and jumps away, disappearing into the night.

Sasha collapses down, her knees and elbows hitting the ground as she curls onto herself, her face streaked with tears, and she wordlessly screams in agony.

The night is ignorant to her pain, even the crickets going quiet in the face of violence.

She runs to the only sanctuary she knows.

A few seconds later, Sasha already swings the doors to Wilde’s balcony open, stumbling inside as she presses with both hands on her bleeding torso. Her vision is blurry and spinning, and she can’t tell if it’s because she’s losing blood or because of how painful the worry and grief are.

A blink of her eyes and Wilde is by her side, helping her to get to the sofa. “Sasha. Sasha, what happened?”

She can barely process through her own tears, but she manages to let out a few words through the sobs. “A trap - I don’t know - they shouldn’t have known - Ashen - he took Grizzop, and I’m too much bleeding, so I can’t go after - “

“Shhh. Alright. Alright. Hey.” Wilde cups her face in his hands, smoothing over the tears with his thumbs. “Hey. Try to breathe with me, alright? Come on, let’s do it together. One.” She takes in a shaky breath, but she manages it, following the pattern of Wilde’s rising and falling shoulders. “Two. Three. One. Two. Three.”

Sasha feels her breathing slowly stabilizing, and though her tears are not gone, at least she can see clearly once again. She’s still bleeding, though, and she knows she needs magical treatment, because even if her flesh heals by itself, there’s still the risk of an infection. Damned adamantine. “I’m - I’m still hurt.”

“Oh!” Wilde’s face goes pale, and he quickly turns to tend to her wounds. He rubs his fingers together and places them on the wound, and then starts humming. Slowly at first, and then it picks up speed, building into a wordless melody Sasha doesn’t recognize. Even though, the magic calms her as it knits her flesh back together, rebuilds her organs and blood vessels, sinks down into her skin and helps sooth down her heartbeat. 

When Wilde finishes healing the major injury, he looks up to her from where he’s kneeling on the carpet to ask for her permission to continue, and Sasha nods wearily. 

She leans into the soft velvet of the seat, closing her eyes, and lets Wilde work his magic on her. His fingers are like feathers, so careful not to press more than necessary, and she listens to the endless tune he weaves as he builds her back up part after part. He must be giving all he has to do this, but Sasha doesn’t complain. She needs this.

She senses Wilde rising up and sitting beside her, and opens her eyes. He looks worn out, now that the dark circles underneath his eyes are not hidden away behind prestidigitation. “Do you want me to get you anything? Drink, food, a blanket…”

“Blanket’s a good idea. And water.”

“Right.” Wilde gives her shoulder a short squeeze. “Be back in a sec.”

He is, and it’s only then that Sasha finally feels herself starting to get a hold of herself again. She sips the water carefully while Wilde wraps the blanket around her and sits beside her again, his worried eyes not leaving her face. “Are we feeling any better?”

“I dunno.” She shakes her head, putting the glass aside before looking back to him. “Wilde, they took Grizzop… It’s Barret, I saw Ashen. I don’t know how they knew. They were just too many, and I couldn’t -,” Sasha buries her head in her hands. “Gods, he’s probably dead. Barret doesn’t do prisoners unless he has to.” Her head shoots back up, eyes wide. “Oh my God. I should’ve ran - Wilde. Wilde, we gotta go, we gotta go and catch them, if we go out now there’s still a chance - “

“Sasha.” Wilde cuts her off sharply, catching her hands in his own, and then sighs. “Listen to me. Why would Barret take Grizzop and not you? He wants you to come  _ to him. _ Believe me, it’s not the first time he pulls something like this.” 

“What, your husband?” 

Wilde freezes in place, and then his shoulders drop. “I guess you were bound to find one way or another. Yeah. About a year ago, actually. But I was foolish enough to go after him by myself, and…,” Wilde lets go of one of her hands to point at the white line across his face. “That’s how I got this. And that’s me being lucky. You’re still in pain and worry, you’re gonna act on impulse and make mistakes. Don’t worry, we’ll handle this, but for now, just - take a moment to breathe, alright?”

“Alright,” Sasha murmurs, not really meeting his eyes.

“It’ll be fine. I promise.” Wilde squeezes her hand, and then withdraws himself, standing up and straightening the crumpled collar of his lilac jacket. “I’m gonna go handle some things that need immediate attention, but I’ll be back soon enough.” He walks off from her and disappears to his office. Sasha hears a door locking, and then silence.

Sasha tightens the blanket around her shoulders and closes her eyes, trying to make sense of her thoughts.  _ What should I do next? _

There, in her chest, she finds something she hasn’t dared feel for a long time - the hot, burning fire of rage, slowly building up.

And why shouldn’t she be angry?

For so long, she lived under the control of Barret. He had her obeying to his orders for years out of well-stemmed fear he implanted in her since she was a child, even before she was turned at the age of nineteen. She didn’t say anything, not when he forced her to kill, not when she was on the brink of death herself because of him, not even when he took Brock away to somewhere unknown and she never saw her best friend again. Never, ever, did she dare to defy him. Except for when she ran away.

And now he tries to destroy the new life she has built?

To take away the people she loves?

Sasha’s eyes open, the red circling her irises growing wider, and there’s the taste of the hunt on her tongue.

_ Not this time. _

___________

Wilde rubs his eyes as he exits his office, yawning on his way to the living room. He spoke with Hamid using the mobile stones for almost half an hour, working out the details of the plan, and made sure with everyone else in his team that they were ready for a rescue mission.

Now to check up on Sasha.

Wilde stops on the edge of the corridor and looks up, opening his mouth to ask her how she is, and freezes.

All that’s left from her is a discarded blanket, curtains gently swaying in the wind coming from the open doors of the balcony.

“That’s not good,” he murmurs to himself. He knows she wasn’t taken, because he would’ve usually sensed anyone coming in and out, and there are no signs of a struggle having occurred. But if there is one person that can sneak away under his nose, it’s Sasha.

She must be looking for her own solution.

_ Concentrate,  _ Wilde commands himself, and closes his eyes. Sasha’s a good sneak, but even she has a hard time concealing her own smell, especially if she’s in a rush. Wilde takes a deep breath in, paying close attention to the smells coming in through his nostrils and comparing then to his internal catalogue. 

It’s faint, but there’s a sweet-sour trail leading outside, to somewhere in the roofs of sleeping London. 

_ There. _

Wilde’s eyes shoot open, and he runs to grab his shortsword - the one Zolf gifted him on his half a century, the one he did not touch since Zolf left - before jumping off into the night to chase the scent.

As Wilde jumps from roof to roof, his body but a blur of color, he thinks of the possibilities of what he may find, and what he can do. If Sasha is in trouble, he doesn’t know if there’s much he can do but simply try and fight his way through to her, though he is drained of magic and didn’t fight face-to-face for a long time. He’s doubtful it’d be the situation, though - the smell doesn’t seem to lead him underground, and no one but Barret poses a real threat to Sasha. 

What frightens him much more is that her emotions will overcome her, and she’ll do something unspeakable she might later regret. Everything is sharper when you’re a vampire, even your own feelings. Your happiness, yes. But also your anger. Your sorrow.

After all, Wilde ought to know. He’s made mistakes, too.

What distracts him from his thoughts is the smell getting stronger, and Wilde snaps his attention back to his surroundings. He’s been running automatically, but now, as he forces himself to pay attention, it becomes clearer he’s coming closer to the MacGuffingham estate. It’s not glorious as it once was, but it’s there. 

Wilde can also sense the blood from the nearby alley, where he’s sure Sasha and Grizzop fought.

_ Oh, she wants revenge. _

He follows her path, above the metal gate, from birch to birch and in through the top floor window. She wasn’t trying to be stealthy, just fast.

Wilde sneaks through the corridor, not making a sound as he runs to the top of the staircase leading down to the welcoming hall.

At that moment, he knows he might be too late.

He makes his way down the stairs step after steps, taking in the bodies waiting for him downstairs. The shredded throats and broken necks, the gushing wounds weeping ruby tears. He searches for a heartbeat in his ears, but there is none. 

Some of them are people Wilde recognizes, from high society gatherings he managed to buy his way into, or from deals he had to make with the enemy to keep the current pretend-peace between the territories. To be frank, he doesn’t mind those people being dead - they had to be moved out of the way at some point or another.

But there is also human staff here, people who just happen to work for Sir Bertrand MacGaffinghum, who were unlucky enough to be on the night shift. And they are dead, too.

Wilde pushes forward with a heavy step, letting his senses guide him.

He finds her in the wide living room, her back turned to him, pinning a figure to the floor which must be Sir Bertrand. The woods in the fireplace crackle, and being the only source of light in the room, they illuminate the scene from one side, flickers of yellow through the darkness.

Wilde comes to stand behind her, slowly, giving her time to respond. But she doesn’t turn around.

“Sasha,” he says quietly.

Still not turning, she gives a low growl. “Let me finish him off, Wilde.”

“I will.” He doesn’t move. “Would you look at me, please?”

Sasha snaps her head to look at him. Mouth covered in scarlet, fangs out, and her eyes have gone bright red, the pupils swallowed away. “What?” 

Carefully, Wilde lowers himself, until he’s crouching in front of her. “You need to stop.”

“I thought he might be a lead to Grizzop, and he wasn’t,” she grits her teeth. “But he  _ did  _ know we were coming, and he wanted us to get hurt. So I’m repaying the debt. He doesn’t deserve to live.”

“You’re right. He doesn’t.” Wilde makes sure to be loud and clear. “Bertrand MacGuffingham is a disgrace even to his own horrible family, he’s a scum who abuses power and doesn’t mind who gets hurt in his way, and if we’re already here, it’s better to just be done with him. But - ,” and there he drops his voice, “ - we can’t be like him. We don’t go around killing innocents, remember? We have a moral code, Sasha. You know that.”

Quick as an arrow, Sasha lets go of Bertrand and shoots forward, slamming Wilde into the wall behind him. She pins Wilde there, looking up at him with fresh tears in her eyes. “What would you have me do, then?” she shouts. “You left me to just sit there, and then went to your office, who knows why, like Grizzop is not in danger as we speak, like there aren’t people  _ responsible for what happened that can pay! _ And I can’t go just by myself, so I thought I’d get some information to be prepared, and if not, then at least someone will pay with their blood! It’s at least better than just taking no action, like you!” She stabs his chest with her finger, right above his heart, and her voice breaks. “I thought you cared for us, but you’re just like him, aren’t you?”

Wilde’s mouth turns into a thin line. “Sasha…”

“No. No! You’re all the same. Handling things without ever leaving your little offices, going to meetings and gatherings while the people working for you put their lives at risk! I don’t know why I ever thought - “

“Sasha!” He roars, and with on fluid motion, turns them around, towering over her as he pins her to the wall. “Do not. Ever. Compare me to Barret. He’s taken everything away from me, and I will not hear these words again.” Wilde’s head falls down, and he lets go of Sasha. “Of course I sent someone. Hamid, Azu, Barnes and Carter are already on their way to get Grizzop back. Considering the speed in which everything was done, I doubt Barret’s men even managed to get back to the Racket house back with him. The fact I wanted you to rest has nothing to do with me not taking action.” He raises his look from his feet to her, tears in his own eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t say more. It’s just that you were - you are acting on impulse, not thinking. And I understand, I do. We all fall there at some point. But we have to not lose ourselves in the process.”

“Oh.” Sasha’s shoulders slump in place. He watches as the red in her eyes starts to gradually fade away, and her face turns from anger to horror. “Oh gods. Oh, you’re right. Wilde, I’m sorry. All - all the people, I’m… I didn’t think, I was just so  _ angry… _ ”

Wilde takes a step forward and pulls Sasha to his chest, his arms engulfing her in a hug. He hasn’t hugged in so long, but the feeling is secure and familiar, just tucking her head under his chin as he murmurs softly into her hair. “I know. It’s okay, I understand. We can heal from here, alright? But first you need to rest, for real this time. Is that fine?”

Sasha sniffs. “Yeah, alright.” There’s a groan coming a few feet away from them, and Wilde hears the rustle of clothing as someone is attempting to stand up. Sasha’s head shoots up, and she disentangles herself from Wilde’s hold. When he spins, he sees her already on top of Bertie again, the dagger he gifted her on their second meeting held beneath his chin. “Oh no you don’t,” she snarls at him. The man coughs.

Wilde lets himself to stride the distance between them, and kneels down beside Sasha. Bertrand’s hair is disheveled, and he obviously has a hard time breathing, taking into account the heavy breaths and the slow trickle of blood coming from his chest. He tries to speak, but Sasha’s dagger is placed so closely to his throat, that he might spear his own head in the process. 

Wilde tilts his head to Sasha. “You want to do the honors?”

“Fucking sure I do.” Sasha lifts the dagger away, and in one fluid motion, pierces through the heart.

Bertie stops moving.

Sasha returns the blade to the inside of her jacket, and wipes the blood off her chin with the back of a shaking hand as she rises up. “Alright. I’m done now.”

“Good.” Wilde stands up, and offers her his hand. “Ready to go back?”

She takes it, and gives him a grateful look. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Let’s go.”

___________

Sasha is pacing. 

It’s the morning after, more leaning into noon already, and Grizzop still hasn’t woken up. 

After they came back to Wilde’s apartment last night, he convinced her it’s better to just sleep for now, since it won’t change anything. She argued back that this means he has to sleep too, and after a bit of a banter sitting on the sofa, they both kind of drifted off. Even with the thoughts of her own deeds haunting her, she somehow managed a restful sleep. 

Curling up with another person beside her might have helped.  _ Wilde’s shoulder is a good pillow. _

When they woke up they found the whole party sleeping on different parts of the living room, some on the other sofa, some on the carpet.

Most importantly, they found Grizzop in Wilde’s favorite armchair, safely sleeping.

Sasha’s not sure, but she thinks that at that moment she broke down crying for the third time in the past twelve hours. She isn’t used to feeling so much at once, but there’s a first to anything.

At least she wasn’t the only one. As people woke up, there was a lot of long hugging and crying, from stress or relief, no one is really sure. They all had time to calm down, make breakfast, and then start worrying again. Thus, pacing.

She’s not the only one who can’t keep still. Carter is fidgety, standing up and then sitting, doesn’t know where to put himself. Hamid keeps on trying to start a conversation and fails, as everyone is just too tense. Azu sits on the floor beside Grizzop, and keeps on trying to heal him further, but it doesn’t seem to make a change.

And because she’s the closest to him, Azu is the first to pick it up, just a slight shift of the goblin’s ears. But it’s there. “Grizzop?” Azu asks hopefully. 

Sasha twirls around as the room falls dead silent, all eyes drawn in the same direction.

The ears move again, perking up, and then, Grizzop opens his eyes, just as six people together call out his name in relief.

Sasha rushes over to him, only to be met half the way through with something hitting her chest and clutching onto her. “Sasha!” Grizzop shouts happily. 

She smiles. “Oi, mate, how you doin’?”

“I was worried about you!”

She frowns. “About  _ me? _ You’re the one who went off!”

Still holding onto her, Grizzop pushes her shoulder with the tip of his finger. “Yeah, and I couldn’t see you around! I didn’t know what’s going on with you.”

“Oh, shut up,” she mutters, and clutches him back close, closing her eyes. “Good to see you, mate.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You too.”

“Group hug!” Hamid calls out, his arms wrapping around her legs, and for once, Sasha doesn’t protest. Not even when Azu comes to join the hug from behind, or when Carter and Barnes join from the side. 

Without opening her eyes, Sasha calls out. “Just get your ass here, Wilde!” And finally, there’s the missing pair of arms around them in place.

When they all let go long seconds afterwards, Grizzop stands up and puts both of his hands on his hips. “You’re all sappy bastards and I love you,” he declares. “Right, I will say these words again in ten years. Is there anything to eat?”

Conversation slowly starts forming, and it all seems to finally slide back into routine, almost like last week in the party.  _ It feels so long ago. _

Sasha makes her way to Wilde, who is staring at the wall with all of his collection, his eyes unfocused. Awkwardly, she taps his shoulder. “Hey, Wilde?”

His head jerks up, before he realizes who is talking to him and looks down to her. “Hmm?”

“Eh. Thank you. For coming to look after me.” She shuffles her feet. “And I’m sorry, about what I said. I didn’t mean it, I was just… angry, I guess.”

Wilde pats her shoulder lightly. “You’re good. Hey, I’m sorry too. For the shouting. It… definitely hit. But I’ve been where you’ve been, with uncontrollable rage and grief. And I had no one stopping me. So I get it.”

“You’re a good friend, Wilde,” she tells him. “You just gotta loosen up a bit, is all.”

He gives out a long sigh. “I was much more fun once, you know. I think I kind of forgot how to loosen up.” Distractedly, he rubs the band around his ring finger.

Sasha bumps her shoulder against his arm. “I can arrange that, if you want me to.”

Wilde’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. Have you ever tried drinking beer?”

Wilde groans, trying to hide a smile and failing. “Gods, is this your idea - “

Sasha laughs. “Shut up!”

_ Everything’s gonna be alright. _


End file.
